SO I'M MOVING BACK TO NIGERIA!?
'So I hear the application form for Nigerian Law School is out.'
I typed away at work, trying to surreptitiously talk to my mother on the phone without anyone noticing and also act like I was paying attention to what she was saying. I was not.
Or I wasn't until I heard, 'I've spoken to your father. He thinks you should come back for law school too. He told me to look into it for him.'
Screech! I got up mumbling to whoever was looking at me that I needed to pop to the loo. No one spared me a glance, by the way. I hid my phone in the sleeve of my jacket and scurried out of the open plan office.
Once I was safely ensconced in the disabled toilet, I shrieked into the phone, 'Do what? I'm not ready for that! I like my job. I don't want to move back! Even if I did, I don't want to go to school again. I'm tired of school.' I ended the last note on a wail.
My mother did not budge, 'Ndo (meaning sorry). That's what your father wants. You're moving back, eh? So check the law school website and see what it is you need to do. I'll help you from this end. I have to go now. I love you, bye.'
I stared at my phone blankly. This woman had just dropped a huge bomb and ended the phone conversation knowing I was not happy. Not in the slightest. I suddenly realised I did need to pee and did just that. As I washed my hands, I stared at my reflection thinking about moving back. I hated Nigeria. Not because it was a bad country, no no. It was just that I'd been away for so long and had left quite happily because of the freedom from my parents. My independence; glorious. And it was pretty epic - I had lived on my own for so long and done what I wanted to do. This pretty much involved going to the library for 14 novels in one go. Of course, partying and going for festivals and concerts were all part of it but the fact was that I was my own person. In Nigeria, this is not the case especially as a girl. You're not your person till you're married. Then you're more or less your husband's person regardless of whatever spin you want to put on it.
I digress. So I'd been working with this high street law firm for almost a year now and although it was work experience, I adored it. I wasn't getting paid apart from travel expenses but every other Friday, we headed to either Funky Buddha, Mayfair bar or both and proceeded to get hammered. Work and fun, bliss. Now I was going to have to pack it in instead of getting as much experience as I could then moving on to a better job.
I groaned out loud then made my way back to the office. I could not concentrate properly and I did get a few irritated looks from one of the Partners when she had to repeat herself more than once. As soon as I was done with work, I plugged my earphones in and blasted Bullet For My Valentine in order to block the thoughts of law school. I stared at the waiting Blackberry messages from my father and siblings who had, no doubt heard the news of my impending move. I was thankful that I was underground and did not have to respond just yet. I still needed time to think. The rumours I had heard from mates who had gone there years before spun round in my head: the strict lecturers, the power trip from the menial workers, the grading system of exams, the gruelling work process, the SUN oh God the sun, the dress code, the living environment considering the school was in the middle of a village; these thoughts spun through my mind as I sunk further into despair.
Back to school and not just school, but a shit school in Nigeria. Wonderful.
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